Ok, prompt! Jealous!Derek/oblivious!Stiles : Stiles is supernatural catnip werewolves and other creatures of the night like to hit on him. Derek doesn't approve. At all.
Oooh. This was kind of a hard one to get through. I don’t feel like I conveyed the feeling I wanted to. I also can’t find the words to finish it off, but I hope you like where I started it. Thanks for the prompt bb!!
Stiles is about to seal the deal with some hot guy at the bar (is it bad that he can’t remember the guy’s name?), when said guy kind of clams up and keeps glancing over Stiles’ shoulder. He glances over his shoulder, having to do a double take.
Of course. Of course Derek just has to be standing right behind him. Looking insanely….edible in his leather jacket and tight-fitting henley, the top of his chest hair just barely peaking out at the top. Fucking of course.
Stiles barely acknowledges him before turning back to his potential fuck, hoping to double his charm to try to overpower Derek’s presence. Because let’s be honest, who would ever choose Stiles over Derek? Stiles wouldn’t even choose Stiles over Derek.
Except…except he doesn’t look distracted in the way Stiles always feels around Derek, he looks…nervous, almost scared.
Yet, when Stiles glances back at Derek, he’s conveniently looking the other way, waving down the bartender. Stiles’ eyes narrow.
“We should get out of here,” Stiles says in what he hopes is an effective come-on voice. He bites his lip and scans his eyes up and down the dude’s body, attempting to seal the deal.
The dude looks seconds away from agreeing, when Stiles hears Derek all but growl in his ear. He can’t see whatever Derek is communicating with those deathly eyebrows of his, but the next moment potential-fuck is scrabbling away with some mumbled excuse Stiles can’t even make out.
Stiles spins of his heel and shoves at Derek’s chest. Which does absolutely nothing, of course, but he’s not just going to sit around and let Derek ruin his chances of getting laid.
“Derek, what the hell is your problem?” he hisses, trying his best to convey his anger through his glare, which is probably doing nothing to Derek, but whatever.
Derek’s staring at him like he’s just barely holding back his words, and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s actually going to give him a straight answer. “Nothing. I…it’s nothing.”
Yeah, direct communication isn’t really Derek’s style.
“Then can you please back the hell off? I know some of us can just walk in a room and have people throw themselves down at our feet, but it doesn’t exactly work that way for me.”